A Conversation Between John Galt and Scrooge McDuck
by Julia451
Summary: John Galt pays a visit to a prospective candidate for his strike.


"_Poor good, rich bad! Poor good, rich bad! Burn the rich! Burn the rich!"_

John Galt didn't know which was worst – the sight of the pits of mud, straw, and substances he'd rather not name that had flooded what must once have been a beautiful hill, the stench rising from it that he was trying to walk through, or the sounds of those stupid chants blaring from the bullhorns.

"_Poor good, rich bad! Poor good, rich bad!"_

How could they find nothing more productive to do with all that energy? What line of faulty reasoning drove a mob of deadbeats to flaunt their pride in being deadbeats and demand what they claimed others were evil for possessing – money? What twisted logic led people to see it as evil to earn money but virtuous to demand it for free? How had such madness had taken root and spread so fast?

He knew where the madness had started – all these new policies that catered to idleness and punished ability. Then again, maybe it was the reverse – maybe the love of idleness and hatred of ability now rampaging through the country's streets and parks had demanded the policies. John Galt marveled at how the modern feudal lords in power who started this epidemic didn't see the same thing he did when looking at the results of their years of taxing, regulating, and looting all businesses in the nation to death with one directive after another. Was this what they wanted? What would be next – issuing permits to erect guillotines?

A protester stepped in Galt's path. He had expected his appearance might cause a stir in this city and had been fortunate that, so far, this crowd was too high on its own ignorant indignation to notice him. Even this protester did not seem to notice his appearance, as he only asked, "Where do you think you're going? This camp is for the League to Abolish Billionaires. You're trespassing!"

Galt struggled to restrain himself from laughing out loud at how a gang of trespassers on private property actually had the hypocrisy to chastise others for trespassing. He managed to compose himself enough to answer, "It just so happens, I am on a campaign of my own to rid the world of billionaires."

"Really? You think you can get rid of this guy?"

"I hope so. I will try my hardest to," Galt replied. The protester stepped aside and achieved his heart's greatest ambition – dissolving back into the mob. Galt walked on, relieved when he left them behind and had an unobstructed view of the monolith on top of the hill. He paused to stare at the 12-story high sign of the dollar emblazoned on the side of the building and thought how appropriate it was that this sign was also the initial of a name, the symbol of the owner's identity.

"_Burn the rich! Burn the rich!"_

Galt checked that the small cardboard box in his hands hadn't been damaged as he had worked his way through the mob. He was glad Hugh Akston had suggested this alternative for a target who didn't smoke. It was fitting that even something as seemingly trivial as the cigarettes he always brought on his visits had to be different this time – this was a particularly special conquest he had in mind today.

* * *

"Are the police here yet?" groaned the voice on the other end of the intercom.

"No, sir," the secretary replied timidly. "But, there is a man here to see you..."

"No, there isn't," her boss informed her. "There's a man here to see the door. Show it to him."

The secretary looked at Galt. He nodded for her to press on: "He says it will be well worth your time if you'll only..."

"Even telling him I have no time for whatever scheme he has in mind isn't worth my time. Get rid of him!"

The secretary turned from the intercom to Galt, silently begging him for some sort of backup, as she said, "I... he apologizes for coming without an appointment but says you'll understand that it was impossible for him to make one and that he has something very important to discuss..."

"Give him back whatever he slipped you, Quackfaster, and explain to him that Scrooge McDuck is closed to the public until you get rid of that mob outside from the League To Abolish Billionaires!"

"Actually, I believe they're calling themselves 'Occupy Duckburg' now..." The sound of her boss' fist striking the desk stopped her mid-breath. "I'll call the police again, sir," she quickly promised and hung up.

Within two minutes, John Galt was walking past her desk and through the door on the other end of the room. The man inside the office was deep in the concentration of one trying to ignore a painfully annoying stimulus and did not notice him enter. The chants that Galt had temporarily escaped blared back to life in this room, twelve stories below the vast windows.

"_Poor! Good! Rich! Bad!"_

The people of this city weren't so different after all. "It's just as bad in the rest of the country," Galt announced.

"I know, but Calisota was the last to catch it. I thought for sure the disease would have run its course somewhere by..." He abruptly stopped and looked up as Galt closed the office door behind him and stroll calmly towards the desk. "Mr. McDuck... it's an honor to meet you at last," he said.

Galt inclined his head in polite greeting, placed the box on the desk, then stood and waited. He expected Scrooge McDuck to be shocked by the appearance of a human in his city, but it wasn't long before he merely stated, "We don't see many of your kind in Calisota."

"We don't see many of your kind outside of Calisota," Galt replied in a tone that clearly said he wasn't referring to ducks. He saw McDuck smother his rage at the intrusion before calmly asking, "How much did you tip my secretary to let you in?"

"Unfortunately for her, I had nothing to tip," Galt answered. "Nothing that would be useful to her, at any rate. I simply assured her that I was only here on an errand that it was in her employer's best interest to allow me to complete, that it wouldn't take long, and that letting me see him would be the greatest service she could ever perform for him. She trusted me. It's an effect I have on people."

"Well, I trust no one," McDuck assured him, successfully matching his own plain, even tone, "so don't expect it to work on me."

"I wouldn't be here if I did, Mr. McDuck," Galt said as he helped himself to a seat. "I don't expect you to trust me. I expect you to listen, evaluate, and judge."

"I suppose you're here to make me an offer I cannot refuse?"

"No. I am here to make you an offer I cannot resist making that I am sure you will refuse at first."

"No doubt that's why you didn't even bother making an appointment."

"I do apologize for appearing to take a liberty with your time, and, truly, I did originally plan to schedule a proper meeting when I could be properly prepared, but... unexpected business came up this past month, and the results required I make some adjustments to my plans. This actually works in your favor, however; you won't have to endure my intrusion for long because I am in a hurry to get New York and am only here because I knew this would be my only chance to speak with you."

"Who are you?"

Galt smirked slightly (he had expected this question to be asked at the end of the meeting, as it usually was), and he couldn't resist answering with the hint of a laugh, "I'm known by many names right now. My personal favorite is 'Prometheus.' "

"And your real name is one that it's better if I don't know?"

"At the moment, no, but in the future, quite possibly."

"Well, that's reassuring... Can you tell me what you're doing here and what you want with me?"

"I have a business proposal for you, Mr. McDuck. The price is high, but everyone who has signed on so far will tell you the investment is well worth it."

"I hope you know how I treat salesmen," McDuck warned him.

"I know almost everything about you. I know how you've been working to build this empire ever since your tenth birthday. I know your first business ventures were selling firewood and shining shoes in Glasgow, Scotland. I know that you've kept the very first coin you ever earned to this day and flaunt it as a badge of honor. I know how your first customer inspired you to come to the United States when you were thirteen. I know how hard you worked for years as a riverboat captain and cowboy before finally becoming a prospector. I know how your travels around the world eventually led you to the Klondike Gold Rush. I know how hard you toiled on White Agony Creek, fighting for the treasures the earth yields only to those who are strong enough, determined enough, and brave enough to be worthy of them. I know how you made your first million there with nothing but your own sweat and blood, helped by no one but your own muscles, relying on nothing but your own will and resourcefulness, and that you never could have loved the fortune you made if it had been made on any other terms. I know how quickly and shrewdly you turned that million into your first billion, every dollar making you more detestable in the eyes of the world whose idleness and incompetence you shamed with your very existence. I know how your arrival here turned a one-horse settlement into a magnet for people seeking work and opportunity of their own until it became a booming, bustling, prosperous town. I know that you were never satisfied with even that first billion but toiled on, working and living for nothing but your desire to make money, your only goal, then, to become the richest man in the world and, now, to remain so."

He paused, but McDuck said nothing. "Why would you be so stunned?" Galt asked sarcastically (he already knew the answer). "I haven't said anything you shouldn't already know."

"Nothing that I haven't heard four to five times a week for years," McDuck added, "but you're the first one who's said it as if you know it's a compliment, not an insult."

"In the ancient past," Galt explained, "heroes who performed great deeds were rewarded with treasures, kingdoms, or titles as physical manifestations of the honor their deeds had earned them. The heroes of the near past were rewarded the same – their wealth was a physical manifestation of the honor their hard work and intelligence were worthy of. You are one of those heroes, and the wealth in this building and around the world that you earned, square, for being tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties, as you say, is a measurement of your honor. What kind of world sees such extensive honor as something to be ashamed of?"

"A world that's either so insane or evil or both, it's beyond the reach of reason," McDuck answered almost instantly, as if the thought had been lurking in the back of his mind for months, waiting for an opportunity to be released.

"Then why do you work so hard for such a world?"

"Weren't you listening to yourself? I work for no one but myself."

"You also work for everyone in this city who wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and your businesses."

"That's just a side effect."

"That's benefits they reap while condemning you for the intent that provides them."

"Why should I care what they think?"

"You shouldn't, and you don't," Galt answered. "Their opinions can't directly harm you (unless they choose to stop consuming from your businesses, which will never occur to them), but they have provided the justification others can use to harm you. I know you have seen what unreasonable policies the government has been enacting for years based on the faulty reasoning of those who believe that anything that creates a condition of inequality in any shape or form is a crime."

"Of course I know, and I've taken as many measures as I can to protect myself."

"And you've mostly been able to succeed because Calisota is merely a territory, not a full state under the full authority of the national economy-runners and looters," Galt conceded, not in a tone of congratulations but in that of a doctor delivering a fatal diagnosis.

"I had quite a time with that Equalization of Opportunity Bill," McDuck admitted. "I still try not to think of what I had to pay the lawyer who got them to rule that all of McDuck Industries are one company."

"And you see that as a victory," Galt said, frowning, "maintaining your ability to provide them with things to loot."

"Let them try. They're no match for me."

"Which makes their power over you all the more tragic."

"I've never once in my life looked an obstacle in the face before and thought of giving up," McDuck declared. "I'm certainly not going to start now."

"Obstacles like the cyclone that once unexpectedly struck your farm." Galt didn't specify which farm, but he could tell that McDuck already knew the incident in mind. "Tell me about that."

"I would've thought you knew all about it," McDuck said defiantly.

"I do, but I don't think you know the most important parts of it," Galt said simply.

Now would be as good a time as any for McDuck to throw him out. He evidently decided his curiosity was stronger than his vexation, as he took a deep breath and began: "I took my nephews – that is, my nephew and three grand-nephews – on a trip to a new farm of mine, before the staff had even arrived, to give myself a hint of how well they could handle hard work. My nephew Donald didn't look very promising, but the three boys gave me hope. I could see they were not only hard workers but understood that nothing in this world is free, that someone has to work for it, and if it has to be you, then so much the better.

"I had a corn crib erected and filled with money to use for my daily exercise while I was away from the money bin. I know, I know, reckless and foolish, go ahead and laugh… at least I learned never to risk _that_ again. As long it was disguised, I figured I wouldn't have to worry about thieves all the way out there. I never counted on a cyclone. The storm swept right through the farm and left everything practically untouched afterward except for my money – the funnel cloud sucked every coin and bill out of the corn crib like a vacuum cleaner and then poured it all over the countryside. The boys were worried, but I knew the laws of money too well not to predict what would happen. I ran through the entire process in my head in thirty seconds and knew exactly where my money would end up and how to get it back.

"I stayed on the farm working with the boys, allowing everyone who had been magically given a million dollars from nowhere for free to keep it. I knew it would do them no good because once everyone had a million dollars, no one would have to work, and then no one would get anything they wanted to spend their money on because they would find no one to provide it because no one had any motive to provide it any longer. Eventually, my neighbors realized the only place nearby to get food was my farm, and everyone brought my money back in exchange for bacon, eggs, cabbages, and anything else we had that they needed. I got every cent back and then some, and the local economy was able to function again – win, win."

"_Your_ resources, _your_ labor saved them all. Can you imagine the disaster that those people would have been trapped in had it not been for you and your desire to make money?" Galt asked.

"An economy that stops functioning permanently is one thing I prefer _not_ to imagine," McDuck confessed.

"And that's just on the small scale that was affected by that cyclone. I won't ask you to imagine it on a national or global scale. But I will ask you this: You got your money back by charging customers millions of dollars for plates of bacon and eggs. What would you have done if the government had come in and ordered you to charge them less, whatever low prices the government deemed reasonable, and then charged you a fee for their interference?"

McDuck shuddered, letting a sense of horror pass, before he answered, "I would have refused to make or sell anything unless they agreed to let me do what I pleased with my own."

"And when they responded by seizing the farm from you?"

McDuck didn't need a second to think about the answer to that. "If my temper didn't drive me into a fatal heart attack, I would have destroyed it before I let them take what I'd worked for. I would have released the animals, blown up or burned down the property, and left them to fend for themselves."

"For the sake of argument, say you complied with them fully and sold everything at arbitrarily low prices. What would have happened to the people their policies were theoretically supposed to benefit by protecting them from the evil entrepreneur?"

"Either they would have remained trapped indefinitely in the state they were in, or the first few customers would have cleaned me out, leaving nothing for everyone else and no means for us to provide them any more, quickly putting us out of business and them in an even more desperate situation than before. What's the point?"

"To remind you that you know there would be no point in running a business under such conditions," Galt explained. "What happened on your farm is now happening on a national scale, except wealth is being redistributed not by a freak act of nature but by conscious human intent, and those with the ability to fix the resultant mess are forbidden from fixing it because it would benefit them too much. You see the results outside your window."

"True, but they won't listen to us, so what do you suggest we do – give up and let them destroy us as quickly as possible?"

"That's the way many look at my strategy," Galt admitted, "when, in fact, it's no different from the strategy you and your nephews used on your farm – working in private seclusion and protecting yourselves until the looters learn that nothing in this world is free and are ready to pay for the fruits of your labor."

It took McDuck a second to say, "What do you mean, your..."

He let his question trail off, but Galt answered him anyway: "Ever since the Industrial Revolution began, workers who feel they have been treated unfairly have gone on strike against their employers and refused to work before their demands for fair treatment were met. Well, it would appear that it's now time for the employers to go on strike against their oppressors and refuse to work until their demand for freedom is met. That's why I'm here, Mr. McDuck. You're one of the great movers of the world, one of those who carries civilization on your shoulders. You expected it, of course; you've planned on doing it all your life. You didn't mind because you also expected it to be worth it. You didn't expect your hard-earned profits to be looted and redistributed to people either too incompetent or too lazy to earn their own. Or if you did, you expected it to be called by its true terms – robbery and extortion – and for the law to protect you from it. You didn't expect to work in a world where robbery and extortion are the law and productivity is the crime. That is the world you're now living in, Mr. McDuck – horrifying, but that does not make it any less true. Men like you... don't belong in that world."

"Unfortunately, it's the only world we have."

"What if it weren't?" McDuck raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. "You came to seek your fortune in the United States, you came back to establish your empire here once you found it, because it was the land of opportunity, where a man was free to face the world on his own terms. Tragically, those conditions have changed. But there is a new land of opportunity – a place where capability, integrity, intelligence, perseverance, and honor are allowed to yield their rewards, where anyone with the will and ability to succeed has the freedom to succeed, where the individual is never sacrificed for some paradoxical collective good, where rational self-interest is not a sin, where the only equality anyone expects is an equal playing field to compete to the best of their ability, where everyone lives secure in the knowledge that they must never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for theirs. You and the other prime movers of the world are apparently no longer welcome here. Very well – let the second-handers have it. Let them have their equality, altruism, collective good, and slavery, but stop serving them, stop spilling your blood on their Altar of Need, stop making more for them to loot. It's no longer necessary... if you join me."

McDuck answered him in the tone of a businessman negotiating a deal, "How come I haven't heard of this before?"

"If you had, it wouldn't be there. It must be safe from the looters, from our persecutors, from the exploiters, overseers and slave-owners."

"Hidden where no one can find it and sully its purity with their evil..." It sounded like McDuck was talking mostly to himself.

Galt didn't know what he had said to puzzle or disturb his listener, but he could only continue, "Where we're able to work, create, and prosper in peace and live in freedom."

"_How_ is it hidden?"

"That's the same as asking 'Where?', now, isn't it?"

"Tall, unscaleable mountains? Wilderness too treacherous for anyone to venture too close? Valley covering too small an area to be conspicuous?" Galt remained silent, knowing this would only confirm that to confirm his suspicions was forbidden, but to contradict them would be a lie. Yet, he was surprised when McDuck declared, "You're talking about some utopia, aren't you?"

"What if I am?"

Mcduck rolled his eyes, sighed, and picked up a file from his desk. "It's Tralla La all over again," he said.

Galt crossed his arms. Now the interesting part of the interview would begin. "I see the offer does not appeal to you," he said.

"You make a lot of sense... but you lost all credibility when you entered utopian territory."

Galt ignored the hint that he was no longer welcome. "You would prefer to trust me if I promised you unnecessary pain, suffering, and despair?"

McDuck looked up from his file. "Rule Number 1 of Doing Business: If the offer sounds too good to be true, it usually is." He turned his eyes back down to the page.

"Rule Number 2: No venture can be made without the courage to take risks."

"It's not a risk if you know exactly what the results will be," McDuck said without bothering to look up.

"That's certainly a risky presumption."

"Not when it's taught by personal experience." That last statement was puzzling, and Galt didn't try to hide his confusion because he wanted McDuck to explain it. He looked up and faced Galt again. "I know exactly what kind of place you're talking about. I've tried living there twice. I went looking for it after the League to Abolish Billionaires came after me for the first time. That was the last straw, on top of all the other demands people felt my money entitled them to make. I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to give up and run away, leave behind all my money, abandon the fortune I'd worked so long to build..."

"You don't say?" Galt couldn't help interrupting. He struggled to remember when he had heard or read of McDuck doing something like this.

"I almost can't believe it, either, looking back..." McDuck started to answer.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not shocked that you ever did such a thing but pleasantly surprised that you could."

"And _never_ will again. I went looking for a valley I heard was hidden somewhere in the Tibetan mountains – a paradise where everyone lives in perfect harmony, friendship is valued above all else, everyone shares everything freely with everyone and works for everyone else, and greed and selfishness don't exist... a place that has no concept of money." Galt narrowed his eyes and clenched his right hand into a fist. He managed to regain control of himself and shook his head to clear it of the unbearable vision. McDuck had to have noticed, and Galt was grateful that he didn't ask about it but simply continued: "It was true. I found a completely money-free society that seemed to know nothing of greed, ambition, progress, private property, or profit, nothing but peace, harmony, and goodwill. The land without money seemed to be everything I'd heard of and hoped for at the time."

" 'Seemed'?"

"It's all a sham. The only reason the people of Tralla La don't act greedy is because they have nothing rare enough to be greedy for. Drop anything rare into their midst, and it becomes as good as money to them, even old caps from some bottles I brought with me. They understand worth, rarity, and trade as well as anyone; they only lack rare things of worth to trade. And they know it! They must! When I returned..."

"Returned?!" Galt too overpowered by disbelief to restrain himself this time.

"By accident... long story. I found out their solution to the problem was to hide all the bottle caps – just get rid of all the 'money.' If they were really so immune to greed, why would they need to do that? I can't believe I was ever tempted. I don't belong in a place like that, where people are so determined to deny the best within us: our aspiration to change things for the better, not to keep everything unchanged forever, our system of toil and reward, and our ability to recognize value. So you can keep your utopias, your paradises, and your perfect, secluded valleys; I'll keep my money and all the stress that comes with it."

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Galt's voice was so open in its relief and joy that he couldn't blame McDuck for his evident confusion. "Mr. McDuck, your objection to my proposal is founded on the premise that Atlantis is just like this Tralla La. It is necessary that you understand this premise is false."

"Atlantis? Already been there, too – _not_ a nice place to visit, and I wouldn't want to live there."

"Is that so?" Now that was interesting. "You'll have to tell me someday if it's anything like our Atlantis, the Utopia of Greed." Galt paused briefly and then added, "Does that name tell you anything?"

"Nothing I can make sense of."

"Why?"

"How can an ideal society be founded on an inherently… well, supposedly inherently evil concept?"

"Contradictions do not exist, Mr. McDuck. The ideal society can be founded on the concept of greed because greed is _not_ inherently evil, regardless of how much of the world is ignorant of this fact. The accumulation of wealth as a physical manifestation of honor by honest means is not evil – this is what the world indiscriminately calls 'greed.' The accumulation of wealth by dishonest force, fraud, or coercion is evil, but the crusaders against greed do not understand that dishonesty, envy, sloth, and exploitation are not synonymous with greed. Atlantis is the ideal home for those who recognize this distinction; this is accomplished by discarding all the ingredients and the recipe used to create other supposed 'utopias.' The inhabitants do not work primarily for a greater good but each for their own good. Everyone is responsible for his or her own life and welfare. We do not share indiscriminately but charge and spend money on all services and goods…" McDuck drummed his finger impatiently on the desk; Galt knew from experience that they had arrived at the point where his listener didn't believe a word he was hearing. They should move on to the next phase shortly. He continued, undaunted, "We do not run one vast charity but many individual businesses. We each have our own different tastes and pursuits. We are not hedonists, but we do not consider asceticism for the sake of asceticism a virtue any more than we consider joy a sin. Do you understand how Atlantis is not, as is the fashion for utopias, a cult of worshipers of the Deity of Universal Brotherhood? We _do_ use money, we earn and keep personal profits, we have private property, we fall in love…"

McDuck asked nonchalantly, "Hah, just what_ is_ your idea of love?"

Galt looked aside and briefly laughed as he thought, Holding a woman hostage for a month and forcing her to work for me. He suddenly started and whispered, "Did I say that out loud?"

Galt barely had enough time to start at his own carelessness before McDuck leaped to his feet, gripped the edge of the desk in both hands, and yelled in blind rage, "How dare you... How did you... Who told you about that?! What are you talking about?!"

"What are _you_ talking about?" Galt asked, thoroughly confused. McDuck glared at him, but Galt had no idea why he should be so furious. What had he said? As the two men gazed silently into each other's eyes, Galt realized there could be only one explanation: McDuck hadn't realized it was an accidental but sincere answer; he thought it was mockery. Of what? Had he really done or been through... the exact same thing?

Galt knew McDuck wouldn't believe him if he said he hadn't been referring to anything in the latter's past – indeed, that he was stunned to discover there was anything like that to refer to. He simply smiled at his own understanding and fascination before saying, "It appears we have even more in common than I thought." McDuck sat back down, crossed his arms, and composed himself; Galt judged he understood.

Galt laughed softly at his blunder before deciding that the best course of action was not to ignore the preceding scene but to confront what had started it. He cleared his throat and said slowly, "My idea of love is admiration and trading value for value. Love is a tribute made willingly to what you admire, an exchange of values from which both gain pleasure and satisfaction, not where one gains at the expense of another's pain. Love is when you find someone who values what you value, whose strength impresses you and makes you want to match it, who offers you a challenging battle you enjoy fighting with a worthy adversary, to whom you give and from whom you receive equal joy. Love is a contest between opponents, who battle not because they hate each other or value opposing things but because they value the same things and thus naturally become competitors. The woman I love is also my greatest enemy, and I have spent the years systematically robbing her, piece by piece, of what matters most to her..."

Galt let his voice trail off, puzzled by what he saw seeing. McDuck had reached inside his coat and had left his hand there instead of removing something. McDuck noticed the action about twenty seconds after Galt did and dropped whatever he'd been reaching for... no, it seemed more like he had noticed the confusion on his visitor's face – he hadn't realized he'd made any movement in response to what he was hearing. Galt deduced the meaning behind the instinctive gesture and hoped there weren't any more women in McDuck's life of whom something else he heard would remind him; it was presenting an unanticipated complication.

Galt decided more than enough had been said on the subject of love; he now asked, "What are _your_ ideas of love, honor, and evil, Mr. McDuck? Are they so vastly different from what I've described that you could never find it possible to live in a world based on these values?"

"That doesn't matter if I don't believe that such a world exists."

"Understandable. If that's your only objection, all that remains is to come see the proof of it with your own eyes."

"Why me? Why not go across town and ask Flintheart Glomgold to join you?"

"Glomgold?! He's just another looter who makes money by force, fraud, and coercion because he knows he's not capable of earning it honestly. I have no interest in such men. Let them see how long they'll last without true businessmen to defraud."

"Why should you care about that? What's in it for you?"

"Every prime mover who joins the strike brings me one step closer to destroying the Hell the looters in power have made of Earth."

McDuck smiled for the first time since the start of the interview and said, "I was almost beginning to think you sounded like just some new starry-eyed altruist on a mission to save the world. But according to you, you're out to destroy the world."

"I hope I won't have to destroy you along with it."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a statement of the inevitable results of the course the world is on. If you prefer to serve the looters until they destroy you along with themselves, I can neither hinder your choice nor prevent your destruction, but I would consider it a tragic and unnecessary waste."

"Do I even have enough time to stop it? Maybe you should have come to me with this proposal earlier. Did you consider how long it would take me to relocate all of McDuck Industries to Atlantis?"

They had arrived at the most difficult part of the journey. Galt ignored the impulse to take a deep breath and managed to sound casually nonchalant as he answered, "Why should I when you can't take it with you?" McDuck looked right at him. "Joining this strike means refusing to give the benefits of your mind to a world that refuses to appreciate it, but as their world is forbidden to profit off you, you are also forbidden to profit off their world. Once we go on strike, we only do business with each other. Not a single cent of the businesses you run in this world would be of any use to you in ours. _You_ are welcome; what the looters have, unfortunately, assimilated into their machinery is not."

Galt saw the familiar look that indicated the implications were too horrifying for his listener's mind to process them fully. He had to spell it out for him: "Mr. McDuck, leave all your businesses in this unjust, irrational world behind and come start over in Atlantis. That is my offer." At last, it was said.

McDuck sat stupefied for a minute. Galt let him gather all his faculties together without interrupting him. McDuck finally said, "You don't just want to spare those who don't deserve to be destroyed by this plague. You want to tell the entire body of looters, 'Be careful what you wish for!', and gloat. But you can't do that unless I – and all others like me – give them what they wish for. That's your proposal – citizenship in this Atlantis in exchange for letting you teach your enemies a lesson, which requires... everything we have! 'Leave your various successful businesses, walk away from your old lives, come follow me, and be my disciples!' "

Not that again. "Before you put it that way..."

McDuck didn't let him finish: "I do apologize for misunderstanding you. I thought you were selling a way for me to protect my business from those scavengers when you were really buying a way to punish the scavengers: destroying my business."

Galt asked the one question he was sure of always getting the same answer to: "You would prefer to see it in their hands rather than destroy it?"

"Never!" The word and all the anguish behind it burst forth instinctively.

Galt said compassionately, "Turn around." McDuck rotated his chair around to face the window and looked down at a mob gathered twelve stories below in a mockery of the act of storming a fortress that they knew they had neither the right nor the courage to storm. He thanked them for proving his case. "The only way to stop that epidemic is to teach them the folly and evil of their campaign," he explained. "But reason cannot be forced; it can only be demonstrated. They want your money. They say all their problems are caused by you and others like you refusing to give them money. How would you suggest proving the irrationality of their demands?"

McDuck answered placidly, without turning around, "Give them what they want, and watch it fail to solve anything." Galt knew he couldn't deny it.

"I came here today to ask you one question, Mr. McDuck – do you value your honor and freedom enough to shrug off this world's yoke of slavery? Do you have enough courage to start over afresh like you did so many times between Dismal Downs and White Agony Creek?"

"That's two questions," McDuck said as he turned back to face Galt.

But they only need one answer, Galt thought silently One of three things would happen now: McDuck would jettison him from the room, wave this all off as a practical joke, and get back to work; he would turn him down despite believing he was sincere and go back to work, hereafter forever tortured by every deal he sealed, every dollar he made, every coin or figure or report he saw, constantly thinking of those he was enabling to exploit his efforts, of the enemies he made stronger the longer he fought them, and cursing himself for not teaching them a lesson when he had the chance; or he would judge it was a good deal and accept it. It all came down to whether or not he was willing to pay the price...

Galt waited patiently and let McDuck weigh the price of the offer, the benefits, the risks. There was nothing more for him to say, no more negotiating to be done, only a "Yes" or "No" for one to say and the other to accept. The waiting phase usually took longer than the negotiation phase, as it should; one's own mind should always be more influential than another's arguments.

Galt didn't know how much time had past before McDuck asked, "Do you have anything else to say?"

Galt looked at him and said, "Do you yet?" in answer to his spoken question. He had seen another request in his eyes: _Please make some other argument that will give me the final push I need. _That, he answered with a smirk that said, You'll get no help from me.

McDuck evidently got the message... and thought it was an odd approach. "What did you tell the other prime movers of the world to convince them to join you?" he asked.

"Whatever they needed to hear at the time."

"Well, what do I need to hear?"

"Everything I have just told you."

"If you've got nothing more to say, I should be completely sold on the idea. If I'm not, you should keep arguing until you win me over."

"I have no interest in winning people over by manipulation, Mr. McDuck. I can only argue by appealing to people's reason, not by convincing them to override it. If you have judged that it would not be in your best interest to join me, I cannot force your judgement. I will not ask that you sacrifice anything you value for something you judge to be of lesser value. I can only offer what I consider to be worth the value of what I request."

"How disappointed will you be if I don't agree with the value of your offer?"

"That's no concern of yours."

"You're right. My only concern is how disappointed _I_ will be if I don't." Galt remained quiet as McDuck reasoned aloud with himself: "That's the most efficient way to resolve a dilemma, after all: ask which option you would regret more. If I refuse, I know I'll regret it forever. If I accept, I suppose I couldn't regret it for long... I'd only miss what I left behind until I got started replacing it, like I always have... I have no family to worry about, except my nephews, I suppose... I willed my entire fortune and this entire empire to my three grand-nephews. When I leave it all to the looters, by the time they come of age, there won't be anything left for them to inherit..."

Galt felt he was obligated to share any unknown information that could have a bearing on someone's decision. "They're welcome to come, if they wish," he explained. "Anyone who shares our values and is willing to live by our laws is welcome to join us. Couples and even families have joined the strike – not collectively, as a unit, but each of them individually. If you know anyone in your family or on your staff whom you know would wish to join us, by all means, tell them; the less blood left for the looters to sacrifice, the better."

Galt wondered if this information should make the decision any easier. He hoped it wouldn't. "If you've observed me as closely as you say you have, you must know why I found the boys worthy of inheriting my fortune," McDuck said.

"I do," Galt admitted. It would be easy now, all right...

McDuck continued, "I remember when I wasn't much older than them, when I left home to begin making my fortune... when I left my family and started out on my own..."

Galt knew he shouldn't say anything, but there was nothing manipulative about sharing the basic truth: "You're not done yet. You could leave them a much more valuable legacy than what you can leave them here."

McDuck seemed to be on a different trail of thought, however: "Every time I started, failed, and re-started again, I had to do it on my own. I had no one to help me, no one to rely on, no one to offer me an escape or make the road smoother..."

Galt saw where he was heading now. He opened his mouth and leaned forward but stopped before he could utter a sound and leaned back. He could not divert someone who was on a different path that he was; he could only ask others to join him if they were aiming for the same destination. It had been a slow journey, as usual, but the home stretch would go quickly, as usual. Galt waited to see what McDuck would say when he got there.

It _was_ easy for him, Galt realized, as McDuck said, "I thank you, sir, for teaching me an important strategy, which I'll have to pay you for somehow since I reserve the option to utilize it. There probably will come a day when doing business is no longer worth it, and I'll decide to teach the world a lesson by refusing to produce any more wealth for it until I'm allowed to produce wealth freely for myself. Once they push me too far, I won't hesitate to walk away and leave them to fend for themselves... but I'll do it on my own. I agree with your strategy, and I know I can follow it... but I can't join your club. When I go on strike, I'll have to do it alone, without help from you or anyone else. That's the only way I can do anything."

Visions of someone saying "it's not help, only a fair trade" and the like briefly flashed through Galt's mind as he pondered how he should respond. The last words to come to mind were, "I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine." They decided it. Galt inclined his head, closed his eyes, and smiled. The conversation was over. He had come here expecting a very different interview; he hadn't been disappointed.

Galt was the first to break the silence as he crossed his arms and said, "I will tell you, because I know it will interest you, that this is the first time I've gotten such a response... but not the first time that I expected... that I hoped, to get it." he hadn't meant to say it, but he was not surprised to hear it.

McDuck returned the smile and crossed his arms in satisfaction as well. "What do I owe you for the strategy?"

"Your answer has already paid me. You have declared yourself my ally, you now understand the only proper way to fight this battle. I will consider my purpose accomplished." Galt rose and extended his hand for a handshake; McDuck gave it, and he continued, "It has been an honor, Mr. McDuck. I look forward to when we meet again. When we do, it will be in a very different world."

"I don't know why, but I feel like we should have met long before this," McDuck replied.

"Yes, we should have." With that, Galt inclined his head once more in farewell and turned to go.

"You forgot something." Galt turned back at the words and saw McDuck holding Hugh Akston's box of nutmeg tea. He had entirely forgotten about it.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention it. I usually bring cigarettes, but I know you don't smoke, so my friend recommended this. Enjoy – with the compliments of Hugh Akston."

He turned to leave again, but McDuck stopped him again. "What was this, a bribe?"

"No, just a gift as a gesture of my respect for a man after my own heart."

He waited to see if McDuck would reject the gift. He placed it back on the desk in acceptance of the offer. Galt gave him a pleased smile in return. McDuck asked suddenly, "When will I hear from you again?"

Would it be safe to tell him? Galt suddenly realized how desperately he wanted McDuck to hear what else he had to say on the subjects they had merely skimmed over today. "November 22nd," he answered. "Turn on the radio."

"Which station?" McDuck asked, nonplussed.

"Any station."

"What time?"

"You'll find out by then; they'll let you know." One last silent, mutual look of respect, sympathy, and appreciation of the others' sympathy served as their final good-bye. Galt walked to the door, opened it, and closed it behind him without another word. On his walk back down the twelve floors of stairs, he could think of nothing but his admiration for the man he had just left, his respect for his answer, and his disappointment that he wouldn't be joining them.

_I hope you realize before long how much you belong with us, Mr. McDuck_, John Galt said to himself. _You are one of us._


End file.
